Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed
by J. APPLEGATE
Summary: Alexandra Trevelyan made a bold choice when she married the man named Hawke against her family's wishes. It proved a dangerous and exciting one as well, long before and after he became Champion. Years after her husband goes missing, Alex is reluctantly brought to the Conclave, where Divine Justinia V hopes to bring peace. Sadly, it is easier said than done.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

Alex hated her dress. Hated anything that could be considered frilly or, as Mother put it, "enough to make you look like a proper young lady." All it took was a minute or two of speaking with one of the numerous nobles at the ball to break that charade. Had she been given a choice, she'd have worn her suit of personalized steel and leather she loved so much. Even decorative armor would be preferable to a corset that made breathing next to impossible and a royal blue gown she tripped on constantly. "It matches your eyes," Mother had said against Alex's protests. "Steel does not, nor should it."

The makeup was even worse. She felt like an Orlesian, her face painted as it was. Mother, who in fact hailed from Orlais, insisted upon it as she always did when the Trevelyan family was invited to these extravagant events. This particular ball was held in Tantervale, celebrating... well, celebrating something. Alex was sure she'd been told, but she couldn't recall exactly what. She could've asked someone, but then she'd suffer some dull explanation accompanied by a "you silly, ignorant girl" expression.

From across the room she spotted her father, Bann Lawrence Trevelyan, chatting with the Lord Chancellor. He spotted her and, when the Lord Chancellor turned away for a moment, rolled his eyes. Alex smiled; it was nice to know he'd had as little choice to be there as she did. Mother asserted that if he or future descendants ever wished to rule Ostwick, Father would have to do his part and be involved in affairs big or small in the Free Marches. That Father wasn't even the head of the Trevelyan family—that prestigious role belonged to Alex's oldest uncle—didn't seem to matter.

"Stop slouching," a sharp Orlesian tone ordered from behind Alex. "You do not look respectable when you slouch."

"Yes, Mother," Alex huffed, straightening her posture as her mother came to her side.

"Come with me, my dear," Mother said in her I'm-not-asking voice. "I want to introduce you to someone."

"Just what I wanted," Alex muttered under her breath.

Her mother's quest to give Alex away to a potential suitor had started three years prior, following her sixteenth nameday. Alex had as much interest in bearing some noble's children as she did in dying. So far Mother's endeavors had failed, but she was nothing if not stubborn. Something Alex had inherited, Father was prone to say. All Alex could be thankful for was that she'd not been given to the Chantry as many of her cousins and her brother Edmund had been. Alex believed in the Maker well enough, but devoting her whole life to Him? Not her idea of an enjoyable life.

Reluctantly, Alex fell in line behind her mother. While Mother walked with poise and elegance, flashing smiles left and right, Alex was trying her best not to stomp or frown too much. She was born into this life of politics and nobility but had never felt comfortable in it. Alex preferred the music of steel ringing against steel to the melodies performed by minstrels; preferred the smell of sweat and blood to expensive fragrances and perfumes that made her gag.

Mother had sworn up and down she'd never allow Alex to hold a sword, much less receive extensive training, when she'd been younger. Father had believed it important she know how to defend herself. He won out. Alex's second cousin Ser Reilly Trevelyan of the Templar Order had taught her most everything she knew. Frequently training with guards at her family estate kept her skills from getting rusty. Guard-Captain Fredrick believed she could win the next Grand Tourney if she could participate.

Mother abruptly stopped. Alex barely halted in time to prevent running into her. Her mother gestured to two people in front of them, a man and a woman. The woman looked near Mother's age. Her short hair was almost entirely grey, unlike Mother's, still mostly the auburn color Alex had taken. The woman had a stance and dress befit a practiced noble, but hers wasn't a familiar face, as much as it was Free Marcher.

The man beside her was clearly her son, despite having some Fereldan in his tanned face, as they had the same blue-grey eyes. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Tall and muscular he was, large arms bulging in his red doublet—a warrior like her, no doubt. Alex had to admit he was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, what with his wavy ebony hair, thick beard, and faint scar on his left cheek. He appeared about just as comfortable at the ball as Alex did—which was to say, not at all.

Mother made a show of clearing her throat. "Leandra, darling, it is my pleasure to present to you my youngest daughter, Alexandra Trevelyan."

Alex somehow managed to curtsy without falling over. She didn't like these events, but she did try to be well-mannered, more so to avoid her mother's wrath. "Messere," Alex said as she bowed her head. She was sure she'd heard the name Leandra somewhere but couldn't place it.

"Alexandra." Mother drew out the second half of her name to emphasize it. She never called her Alex, thinking it too boyish and unfit for a lady. Alex couldn't imagine the fit her mother would have if Alex ever ended up with a scar on her face from swordplay. "Let me introduce you to Leandra Amell and her _unmarried_son, Percival Hawke."

"Oh," Alex exclaimed. Now she remembered Leandra's name. The Amells had been a prominent noble family in Kirkwall before Alex was born. They almost became the ruling family of Kirkwall, but they fell fast and fell hard. First, the three children of Revka Amell showed signs of magical abilities almost all at the same time and were disturbed to various Circles across Thedas. Not long after, charges of smuggling had greatly cost the family financially.

The last straw had been when Leandra Amell fleeing Kirkwall and eloping with an apostate. Rumor had it she'd been pregnant with his child. If it was true, Alex assumed Percival was said child. Leandra's brother Gamlen Amell had been the sole benefactor of the family fortune—what little was left—after she left. He'd had gambled it all away. The Amells, it'd seemed, were done for.

Then the Hero of Ferelden, Revka Amell's youngest child, defeated the Archdemon. The name Amell was on everyone's mind. The same year, Percival Hawke restored his family to nobility in the Free Marches. Humble beginnings, considering he'd been an early refugee of the Fifth Blight the year before. Seeing the man who managed that now standing before her... Alex couldn't deny how impressive he was.

"I prefer Percy, Messere Elaine," Percival—or Percy, Alex supposed—said to Mother. His voice was rich and deep, emanating a sense of power. "Many simply call me Hawke." He looked to Alex and smiled. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Alexandra."

Alex smiled back. "You may call me Alex, Hawke." She saw her mother's eyes slightly narrow and her mouth tighten. Alex recognized it as one of her more subtle scowls and was proud to have earned it.

Hawke was a large man, which made it all the more surprising how impish his grin became. Perhaps he saw through Mother's mask? "All right then, Alex."

"Perhaps we should leave these two alone, Lady Leandra?" Mother suggested. "Let them get to know each other better."

Leandra nodded. "I think that idea is splendid."

Alex wasn't so sure. Mother thought herself tactful, but Alex knew better. She'd complained loudly to Father it wasn't right for the Amells to raise themselves out of the slums. She'd likely let that belief slip to Leandra after she had a glass of wine or two, ruining any chance of marrying Alex off to Hawke. Mother was getting desperate, so she'd suit Alex up with just about anyone at this point, even someone she couldn't stand.

_Though of all the suitors Mother had ever tried to set me up with, Hawke certainly... isn't the worse prospect._

Lady Leandra and Mother departed, discussing the unfortunate events surrounding the Vael family. Hawke and Alex watched them until they disappeared into the crowd, then Hawke said, "I'm sorry my mother had you dragged over here. She's been seeking to match me up with anyone since I restored the Amell name."

"My mother was trying the same," Alex admitted. "I can see her now, bragging to all her friends, servants—really anyone with ears—that she may someday be related to the Hero of Ferelden through marriage."

"An Orlesian, bragging of familial relations to a Fereldan?" Hawke asked. "What has the world come to?"

"'A Hero of Ferelden, but the blood of the Free Marches,' my mother would say."

Hawke shrugged. "True enough." He brushed something off his shoulder, displaying his rough, calloused fingers. Alex's were similar, though hidden by the gloves she'd been forced to wear. "Would you care for a drink? I think it'd improve this engagement party tremendously."

_Engagement party, yes, that's what this is. _"I couldn't agree more."

For the next several hours, the nobility of the Free Marches could find Alexandra Trevelyan and Percival Hawke wherever there may be wine. He regaled her with tales of Kirkwall, of his first year as a mercenary in the City of Chains, and all he'd done to fund his expedition into the Deep Roads mere months ago. He'd made friends and companions of a variety of people: Grey Wardens, pirate queens, Dalish Elves, and escaped Tevinter slaves. His cheerful temperament couldn't extend to all his stories. Sad was he, speaking of his brother and sister, the former a Templar of the Kirkwall Chantry and the latter a Grey Warden not by choice but out of necessity. She hung onto his every word, offering comments and condolences before she spoke of her own life in Ostwick.

Like Hawke, Alex had a family history of magic, due in part to Tevinter blood in their veins. She was the youngest of four children, and two of her siblings had been born mages. Typically, mages were moved to a new city or an entirely separate country—as the Hero of Ferelden had been—but the Trevelyan family, devoted and faithful, had close connections to the Chantry. As such, Maxwell and Evelyn had been allowed to stay in Ostwick's Circle. From what Hawke told her of the Gallows, Kirkwall's Circle, she was thankful her brother and sister hadn't been subject to that fate.

Her eldest brother Edmund, firstborn of Lawrence Trevelyan and Elaine Trevelyan-Caron, had been given to the Chantry at a young age to become a Templar. Sadly, he'd exceeded all expectations and rose quickly in rank. He'd earned the "opportunity" to bear witness to a mage's Harrowing in Starkhaven... where he'd failed to kill the abomination before it could kill him. Alex hadn't known him well, but he was family and she'd despaired at his loss. Though, if any sort of consolation could come from his death, Alex believed his fate was in-part the reason she'd not been given to the Chantry.

Hawke gave a toast to Edmund, and Alex downed her glass in one gulp. They moved on to happier topics after that.

When the ball came to an end and Mother found her less than sober and singing bawdy songs in the corner of the room with Hawke, she was not amused. "Alexandra, you shame me with such behavior!" she hissed. Only Leandra and Hawke were close enough to hear. "Proper women do not drink like whores!"

"She says with the smell of wine and more on her breath," Alex grumbled. She hiccupped, pretending it was an act of defiance.

"Forgive her, Lady Elaine," Hawke stepped in, sounding more coherent than she. "The blame is mine. I dared her to match me drink-for-drink. To my surprise, she did. Impressive, if I do say so myself."

Mother sniffed loudly. "Of course you did, Fereldan. Next you'll want her roll around with dogs."

"You will not talk to my son that way," Leandra said coolly.

"Then your son will not treat my daughter as some harlot to fill up with alcohol before he fills her with something else."

"Mother!" Alex felt her cheeks redden even worse than they'd been already.

Before anymore insults could be flung, or Mother could show just how little wine she needed to loosen her lips, she grabbed Alex's wrist and dragged her away from the last of Amell nobility. Bann Trevelyan was waiting patiently with their servants near the exit to the ballroom. Arms crossed, he looked at them confusedly. Likely he'd receive another earful tonight about "those damn upstarts."

Alex took one last look at Hawke as she was pulled away from him. Leandra was saying something to him, but his eyes were on Alex. _Funny, I start liking a man my mother picked out and she's the one to ruin any chance of something between us. _

She wouldn't let Mother do this, not if it could be helped.

* * *

_A/N: I had this idea brewing for a while, but it wasn't until today I committed and finished what I had of the first chapter. I'm either going to jump straight into DA:I following this chapter, or I'll explore Alex and Percy's relationship and her participation in the events of Dragon Age 2. Most likely it will be the second, but it shouldn't be long before I get into Inquisition's plot._

_Reviews are encouraged. It has been a while since I've written anything for this fandom, so I might be a bit rusty. And thanks to Apollo Wings for helping me develop this idea when I first came up with it._


	2. Welcome to Kirkwall

**WELCOME TO KIRKWALL**

Months later, a ship from Ostwick sailed into Kirkwall's port; on it was Leandra Amell's lady-in-waiting. Armed guards bearing the colors and crest of House Trevelyan were her escort for Kirkwall, her new home for the foreseeable future. In no time, they were off for Hightown, Kirkwall's district for nobles and the wealthy.

In spite of the bad blood between Leandra Amell and Mother after the ball, Alex made it work. Tactful, and with help from Father and fast-traveling couriers, she'd convinced them both. Leandra loved the idea from the start; she held no ill tidings towards Alex, and Hawke likely eased any concern she might have had. Mother hadn't been as enthused, but came around when Alex professed interest in Percy. "Even if it means I'll be family with those upstarts," Mother had said, "it will be worth it, so long as you provide us heirs."

Alex had been lying about the interest. _Mostly._

She was excited, and that was no lie. Kept in contact with Hawke through letters, the adventures he spoke of were thrilling. Even though he had to have exaggerated on some of the details. For he truly seemed ripped straight from the tales she heard as a child. Clearing the streets of wrongdoers and blood mages alongside the city guard—_despite their incompetence, _had been his exact wording. All his nobility had changed, according to him, is that he no longer needed charge for his aid or pat down the pockets of every criminal he killed. Any money made went to his assortment of companions.

Her escort arrived at the Hawke Estate. Leandra waited outside, beaming at Alex. She returned the smile and examined the people standing by her. Two dwarves, one bearded and one beardless, and a timid elf; Bodhan and Sandal Feddic, and Orana, based on the descriptions Percy provided in his letters. Live in servants at the estate. Percy considered them family, though he detested Orana's habit of calling him master. _"I'll break her of it someday," _he'd written.

Speaking of Percy... he wasn't out here. Alex frowned slightly, having hoped to see him for the first time since the engagement party.

The armed guard of thirty, half carrying her luggage from the voyage, halted at the doors. They separated and allowed Alex, who'd been in the center, to approach Lady Amell. "I'm so glad you've arrived in one piece, Alexandra," Leandra said, pulling Alex in for a hug.

"Not a whole piece, I'm afraid," Alex admitted. "My stomach and the sea do not agree with each other."

The head of the guard, Captain Wallace, stepped forward. "Lady Trevelyan-Caron asked I remind you of certain rules, messere."

"Ah," Leandra sighed. There had been stipulations to Alex becoming her lady-in-waiting. Upwards of several thousand stipulations, it felt like. "Go ahead, then."

Wallace unfurled a parchment and read it off. "Lady Alexandra is to not engage in any arms training or swordplay during her fostering in Kirkwall. She is not to perform any hard labor or strenuous work. She is to return to Ostwick every six months for two weeks' time. She is..."

The captain continued rattling off all the instructions set by Mother. Meanwhile, the servants were taking the luggage and bringing it into the house. Most of the guards blatantly stared at the dwarves, laughing as they struggled with bags and trunks matching their size. _Could offer a hand, you bastards. _There was a split divide on Orana; she was outright ignored or ogled over by the human men. Alex wanted to smack every last one of them, but she had to maintain some semblance of nobility lest Mother catch word of her acting out. Even Mother was not one to look down upon nonhumans; at least, not any more than she looked down upon everyone.

Finally Captain Wallace finished the expansive list and tucked it away. He turned to Alex. "Lady Trevelyan, if you no longer have need of us, you may now dismiss us."

She had half a mind to order his guard to help estate servants, but she dismissed the thought. "I think everything all is well," Alex said. "You may take your leave."

Wallace nodded and bowed to each noble. He gifted Alex with a small smile and a "good luck" before ordering his men to turn and head back for the docks. Father hadn't been foolish when picking the head of her escort. Alex sparred with Wallace more than any guard throughout the years, unknown to Mother. He'd overseen the storage of Alex's belongings before setting sail... turning a blind eye to the chainmail and other equipment packed away.

Leandra said herself in her letters she wasn't _always _going to have need of a lady-in-waiting. Percy had no shortage of companions, but one more wouldn't hurt anything.

Lady Amell led her inside. "By the Maker, did your mother add more rules?" she asked, clearly exasperated by the mouthful Alex had all but phased out.

"I wouldn't be surprised. It did take much pleading just to get her in the mindset of sending me off," Alex pointed out. "She only relented because she believed everything would go exactly how she demanded."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her." Leandra glanced over her shoulder and winked, in on the secret about the armor and weaponry. _She has more experience than most in disobeying a parent._ Not that gallivanting around the City of Chains was the same as running off to another country to marry an apostate.

The antechamber of the Hawke Estate was small but inviting, a blazing fireplace illuminating the room. The various tables lining the walls had little empty space to offer, though weren't heavy with valuables or decorations. What looked to be apothecary and runecrafting supplies caught her eye, and a desk by the staircase almost overflowed with letters. The servants were lugging most of her items up to her room on the second floor, leaving behind only the heavy boxes containing her personal armory.

"Your home is beautiful, Lady Leandra."

"Thank you, Alex," said Leandra, admiring the space herself. "I will never be able to repay my son for returning our familial home to our possession." She shivered. "Slavers owned it after my brother gambled the estate away."

"Where is Percy, if I may ask?" Alex inquired, trying to remain light and nonchalant.

Her brow knitted at Leandra as the older woman shook her in discouragement. "He's upstairs with his healer."

"Healer?"

Leandra waved for her to follow, which Alex did as fast as her restricting dress allowed. They climbed the steps, skirting around the help, and entered a room across the small hall. Inside, Percival laid still and unconscious on his bed. A blanket covered everything below his waist, while above he was naked save for bandages his healer was applying to his lower right abdomen. His healer must've gotten quite an exercise dealing with Hawke, given the quantity of scars tiny and large decorating his chest and arms.

The healer was an apostate; his hands glowed blue on Hawke's cut, and the lack of templars watching him work made obvious he belonged to no Circle. But his feathered attire and baggy eyes gave him away as Anders, the ex-Grey Warden from Hawke's letters.

"How is Percival?" Leandra asked.

"He won't be up for a few hours, if at all for the rest of the day," Anders spoke as he finished with the bandages. Content with the healing, he rose from his chair at the bedside. "He will live and recover just fine. I rid him of the poison before it could spread too far. It would have killed him over the next few weeks, disguised as a sudden overtaking of illness."

"Oh dear," Leandra said, covering her mouth. She'd not shown too much concern downstairs, so perhaps she'd expected less grave news.

"How did you detect something so subtle then?" Alex asked, genuinely curious.

Anders eyed Alex with suspicion, wary of her unfamiliar face. Hawke had described his friends to her in detail, but warned there were things left unsaid in case the messages were intercepted. By who, she didn't know. But Anders she was least familiar with for that reason, the largest enigma.

Leandra must have recognized the caution in the air. "Anders, this is my lady-in-waiting, Alexandra Trevelyan."

His stare softened. "Ah, Hawke has spoken highly of you, Lady Trevelyan. To answer your question, the gang that roams the docks at night is notorious for using this poison, though more for slipping into drinks and food. They're who we fought last night, so it wasn't so much identifying what was on the dagger that stabbed Hawke. More so I hoped the tradition held strong. But I'm certain whatever was in his system is gone now."

Alex wondered if there was any correlation to them clearing the docks and her arrival. Arrogance said yes; saddened though she was at his condition, it made her feel... special that he'd gone out of his way to ensure any sort of safer passage.

"Make sure to clean his wound and apply fresh bandages," Anders said to Leandra as he neared the door.

"Yes, I know," she muttered. "I'm quite familiar with the practice." Anders exited the room then the estate a minute later, leaving the noblewomen alone with Percy. Leandra checked to see if Anders was gone, confusing Alex. She reentered the room and said, "You can quit faking now, Percival."

Hawke's eye popped open and scanned the room a couple times. He opened the other and sighed with relief. "You cannot believe how difficult it is staying still when someone's prodding their fingers inside you." He smiled to Alex. "Hey, you're finally here. Welcome to Kirkwall!"

"I... what?" Alex raised a brow. "Was this some sort of rouse?"

"Somewhat. I did actually get stabbed and poisoned, which wasn't planned."

"If you ever let that happen to you on purpose, I swear I would have to disown you," Leandra swore. Her doting motherly tone betrayed any sort of seriousness she was trying to convey. "I'll leave you two be." She entered the hall, closing the door behind her.

Alex made her way over to Anders' chair, trying to keep her eyes off of Hawke's exposed torso. Scars didn't ruin the toned muscles he had. Sitting down, she asked, "Well then, what do you mean by somewhat?"

"Anders is a fine healer, don't get me wrong, but he... lingers, I suppose is the best word for it," said Hawke. "At least once every week or two, I end up bedridden from fighting. The first time it happened—back when we were in a dirty hovel in Lowtown, he stayed the whole day. Since then, I've insisted on a sleeping draught to, as I suggested, speed up the process."

"How do you resist the sleeping draught?" The times she'd been given draughts in Ostwick, they'd knocked her out in minutes.

"By encouraging he takes from my private stock of draughts... which consists of water topped off with water." He rubbed his thick black beard. "Whether he actually believes I'm asleep or is too proud to acknowledge I'm faking to get rid of him, I'm not sure. But again, he's excellent at the healing bit, far better than I."

"Better than you?"

Hawke's eyes widened, and for the first time, they didn't read as happy-go-lucky. There was honest worry in those eyes. It vanished so fast Alex was half convinced she imagined it. "Yes, er, they taught us simple stitching in Ostagar. There were only so many Circle mages around; smaller injuries were left to our own devices." He lifted his right arm, presenting a jagged scar around the elbow, far more brutal than any others. "Darkspawn sword, ripped right through my leathers. Guess I'm lucky I wasn't infected with the Taint, like Bethany."

"But then maybe you could've become a Grey Warden like she did," Alex proposed. "Just imagine it. You and your freshly-sprung Circle mage cousin, alongside King Alistair and your ragtag allies of assassins and golems. All alone save for one another, taking on the Blight and Loghain all at once."

His laugh rocked his whole body, causing him to wince at the dagger wound. "You have a way with words, Alex."

She swept her hair off her shoulder. "I do have flair for the dramatic."

"I hardly think ending the Fifth Blight was as simple as the summary you included me in." He shrugged. "I suppose I do have the ragtag allies part covered. Mine might not all be as exotic as golems and assassins, but they're a good lot. And if you're up for it, you can meet them all tonight."

After the brief rundowns Hawke provided in his letters and in Tantervale, Alex was eager to meet them. She'd never seen a Dalish Elf, thinking them myths of times passed. _But he must have lied about the lyrium tattoos on Fenris. No one could survive that; templars can barely handle ingesting it._"Are they coming over to see you, then?"

"Nope." He sat up, putting his back to his headrest. "Tonight's Wicked Grace, and we always play in the Hanged Man. Something about a game where the cheaters thrive makes you want to play it in a tavern serving watered-down piss for ale."

"Should you be walking around with such a fresh cut?" she asked, gesturing to his side.

"Probably not, but we're in luck! Anders will be there to heal me, and if I know Anders, I'll be able to swap a sleeping draught for his manifesto. Only then I wouldn't be faking when I fall asleep."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to Mandimal, Zute, Gairi, __Nuclearwullfs, spectre4hire, Apollo Wings, dominicgrim, SteveGarbage, AgapeErosPhilia, Seyd, and Commander Ray for reviewing since the last update. _

_I thought I'd abandoned this story after writing the first two paragraphs and having no idea where to go from there. Then last night I was struck with inspiration and wrote the entirety of the rest of the chapter. I'm not sure if I've maintained the same tone from the first chapter or the presentation of the characters, but hopefully the quality is still there. _

_I'm thinking that the first five/six chapters will take place during events of DA2 and then we'll hop over to Inquisition. But who knows? I certainly don't. Until then, thanks for reading, and drop a review if you have the time!_


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